


Two of a Kind

by JJJunky



Category: due South
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2012-06-30
Packaged: 2017-11-08 21:47:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJJunky/pseuds/JJJunky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys go to a baseball game. Nothing bad can happen. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two of a Kind

Two of a Kind  
By JJJunky

 

"This is it, Fraser." Ray opened his arms to encompass the stadium, "Wrigley Field, home of the Chicago Cubs."

Fraser let his eyes wander around the enclosure. Smaller than most Major League Baseball stadiums, its size and the ivy-covered walls gave it an intimacy that was lacking in its more modern counterparts. "Very nice, Ray," Fraser sincerely replied.

"Nice!" Vecchio disdainfully repeated. "Is that all you can say? Nice?"

"I would say the word adequately describes my opinion."

"I'd say it's a little bland. You're describing the home of America's team, you know."

"I thought the Atlanta Braves were America's team?"

"They like to think they are," Ray smugly revealed, "but the Cubs really are. Americans like to root for the underdog."

Fraser nodded his understanding, "Since the Cubs haven't been in a World Series since 1945, that definitely qualifies them for underdog status. When you take into account that they haven't _won_ a World Series since 1908 . . ."

"All right, all right," Ray unhappily interrupted, "I don't need a history lesson."

"Understood."

Though this was the Canadians first visit to the ballpark, he was already well acquainted with the mixture of love and hate experienced by most Cub fans. Early in the season, he'd seen the euphoria that normally accompanied a first place team. Yet, behind the excitement had been a wary acceptance that it wouldn't last. It was this paradox that fascinated him. Pessimism was not a trait he would have attributed to most Americans.

Still, here it was, mid-September and the prediction had come true. At twelve games out, the Cubs not only didn't have a chance to re-gain first place, they couldn't even qualify for a wild-card spot in the National League Playoffs. For all intents and purposes, their season was over. This decline was reflected by the attendance. A meager crowd of fifteen or twenty thousand were sparsely scattered throughout the lower deck and the bleachers. The only aspect that made this particular game interesting was that their opponent, the St. Louis Cardinals, were in contention for the wild-card spot. The Cubs could act as spoilers for their old nemesis.

Fraser watched the Cardinals take batting practice as he followed Ray and an Andy Frain usher to their box seats on the third base line. As ball after ball sailed over the center field wall, he tried to suppress a yawn. Ray was nice enough to bring him here, he dared not show how bored he was. To stimulate his senses, he allowed his gaze to wander over the crowd. A cross-section of the humanity populating the greater Chicago area was represented. A father and mother with their two small children sat beside men in business suits. Nearby, a young couple cuddled under a blanket, protected from the cool wind blowing in from Lake Michigan.

Three rows down and twenty seats to Fraser's left, a man sat alone. He too, had little interest in the men running and fielding. His hands clutched the seat in front of him so tightly his fingers had turned white. His eyes were fixed on the St. Louis dugout. A tear glistened on a pale cheek, playing on Fraser's compassionate nature.

"When I was a kid," Ray said, unaware his companion's interest lay elsewhere, "I could only afford to sit in the bleachers. Back then, the crowds were so small the upper deck was never open . . ."

Though he didn't want to be rude, Fraser's attention remained on the distraught man. The scarred leather jacket spoke of an affluence that had disappeared. This trait was also reflected in the ragged cut of the thinning blond hair.

". . . Once I got to sit in General Admission. Is was the only time my Pop took me to a game," Ray continued, pointing to a spot opposite their present location. "We sat there, right behind first base . . ."

A second man sauntered down the aisle and sat behind the first man. Small of stature, he had a smile on his face that made the Mountie instinctively distrust him. Fraser could see his lips were moving, but he couldn't hear what was being said.

". . . it had been drizzling all day, so the ground was a little wet. Ron Santo drove a ball into right field. He rounded first, determined to stretch a long single into a double . . ."

The first man stiffened. Fear shouted from every pore in his body.

". . . he tried to make a head-first slid into second and just stopped dead in the wet dirt. He looked like a rocker on my grandmother's chair. At first, it scared the hell out of me. I thought he'd broken his neck . . ."

The second man reached into his pocket. Though he tried, Fraser couldn't see what he pulled out.

". . . then, he started crawling toward the base on his hands and knees . . ."

A switchblade opened. Before Fraser could shout a warning, the knife was thrust between the slats and into the blond man's back.

". . . it was the funniest play I ever saw." Ray sighed, smiling reminiscently.

Rising, Fraser jumped the seats in front of him and raced down the aisle toward the two men. Noting the attention he'd attracted, the killer pulled his knife out and wiped the blood onto his victim's shoulder. Closing the blade, he pocketed it and rose. His strides were hurried, but controlled as he walked away.

Kneeling behind the slumped body, Fraser's fingers searched for the carotid artery. All the while, his eyes stayed focused on the fleeing man. When he didn't find any sign of life, he took off after the murderer.

"Fraser," Ray protested, unhappily following, "where are we going?"

Intent on capturing the perpetrator, Fraser didn't stop to explain. Long legs took the stairs two at a time. When the killer turned back to see where he was, Fraser saw fear flash across his face. Encouraged, he increased his speed and closed the gap. In a desperate attempt to lose his pursuer, the killer ducked into a tunnel leading to the main concession area beneath the stands. Earlier in the season, he could have lost himself in the crowd. That wasn't possible today. Though forced to adjust his speed, Fraser easily kept pace. The man's shorter legs covered less ground, however, it was easier for him to dodge the human obstacles straying into his path.

Loud panting behind him told Fraser that Ray was staying right with him. The knowledge was comforting. Though perfectly capable of taking care of himself and accustomed to doing so, it was nice knowing there was someone at his back he could trust.

Andy Frain ushers stood at the exits frowning at the running men. Obviously realizing he would be stopped if he tried to leave the park, the killer ran up the steep ramps leading to the upper section of the General Admission seats.

Barely feeling the strain of the chase, Fraser followed. Above, he saw a metal gate blocked the entrance to the upper deck. The killer barely slowed as he ran up to them. Grabbing the edge of the gate, he swung over the side railing. Only steps behind, Fraser duplicated his actions. At the top of the ramp, he looked back to see Ray awkwardly climbing the railing with one hand, while flashing his badge at the irate ushers with the other.

Footsteps echoed down the tunnel. Reaching the top, Fraser paused to get his bearings and locate his adversary. Rows of empty seats slanted steeply toward the green field below. More cautious than he had been, he continued his pursuit.

Cutting to his right, the killer left the main aisle and headed for the low wall circling the upper deck. Fraser tried to stop him, but only a low gasp escaped his lips. A quick calculation of the slope of the aisle and the speed and weight of the suspect made it apparent the wall wasn't sufficiently high to halt his trajectory.

Fraser watched as the man hit the bricks with a force that probably broke a couple of ribs. Hands desperately clutched at the rough granite as the greater weight of his upper torso propelled him over the top. Lungs empty of air were incapable of expressing the horror of the man's last moments.

His steps slow and heavy, Fraser walked down the aisle. He could hear the screams and cries of alarm from the crowd. Taking a deep breath, he peered over the wall to the seats below. Sightless eyes stared back at him.

"Would . . . you . . . mind," Ray panted, leaning against the bricks, "telling . . . me . . . why . . . we . . . were . . . chasing . . . that . . . guy?"

"I saw him kill a man," Fraser explained.

"What!" Ray looked down at the dead man. "Where?"

"Here."

"Here, as . . . in here . . . in Chicago?"

"No, Ray, here as in the ballpark."

"Would it be . . ." Ray unhappily asked, "too much . . . to ask . . . to tell me everything . . . starting from the beginning?"

"Certainly."

As they retraced their steps, Fraser explained the sequence of events, right down to the smallest detail. By the time he was finished, they had returned to where they had started.

"Where was I while a man was being stabbed?" Ray demanded in frustration.

"Explaining Ron Santo's slide into second base," Fraser supplied.

Ray bit his lip. He'd asked the question. He should've known Fraser would answer truthfully. "Let's forget that part if the Lieutenant asks what I was doing while a man was being murdered."

"Understood."

"Now," Ray looked around, "where's this corpse of yours?"

"Over here." Fraser led the way to the seat the murdered man had occupied - only to find it was empty. Puzzled, he qualified, "At least, he was here."

"This can be a confusing place for someone who's never been here," Ray offered. "Maybe it was a few rows over?"

Kneeling, Fraser stuck his finger into a small puddle. "No, this was the seat," he confidently stated.

"If you stick that in your mouth," Ray warned, his nose wrinkling with distaste, "I'm going to wash it out with soap."

The words had barely passed the Chicagoan's lips, when Fraser licked the tip of his finger.

"That's disgusting!" Ray groaned.

"Salty with a coppery flavor," Fraser nonchalantly detailed, "definitely blood."

Sirens blared announcing the imminent arrival of the Chicago Police Department.

Anticipating the influx of officers that was about to occur, Ray pointed out, "A corpse can't get up and walk out on its own."

"It can if it has help," Fraser speculated, crossing to the nearest Andy Frain usher. "Did you see a man being carried out of here?"

The young woman disgustedly sneered, "I saw a drunk being helped out by his friends. If that's what you mean?"

"What makes you think he was drunk?" Fraser asked.

"I've seen it often enough. He couldn't stand on his own two feet. Without his friend's support, he would've fallen flat on his face."

Flashing his badge at her, Ray demanded, "Have you ever seen a guy that drunk on 3.2 beer _before_ a game started?"

"Well," the girl reluctantly admitted, "no."

His soothing voice a sharp contrast to his friend's, Fraser pressed, "Could you tell us what these men looked like?"

"They were just a couple of guys."

Looking to the heavens for assistance, Ray asked, "Were they short guys? Tall? Fat? Thin?"

"Just a couple of guys," the girl desperately repeated.

"That tells us a lot!" Ray muttered.

Putting a hand on the other man's shoulder, Fraser soothed, "Easy, Ray."

"Don't easy Ray, me," the detective growled, staring across the field. "We've got a dead killer, but no victim, thus no proof our dead guy is a killer. Do you know how this is going to look downtown?"

"Oh, dear."

****

"That was what happened, Leftenant Welsh," Fraser said, finishing his verbal report of the incident at Wrigley Field.

"What were you looking at, Vecchio," Welsh asked, leaning back in his chair, "while the Constable here was witnessing a murder?"

Ray fidgeted before admitting, "I was watching batting practice, sir. How was I supposed to know a murder was taking place twenty feet away?"

"Alleged murder," Welsh corrected, with barely contained anger. "No one except Fraser has seen a victim. Thousands, however, saw a man chased to his death."

"If he hadn't committed a crime," Fraser softly pointed out, "He would have had no reason to run."

"I agree," Welsh reluctantly admitted. "I don't think it's enough to convince the press or the Tribune Company. They aren't happy that they had to cancel today's game."

Fraser sighed, "I would've thought they'd be more upset that two men died in their park."

Though Welsh surrendered to his compassionate side more often in the months since Vecchio and the Canadian had become friends, he still understood that a big business's main concern was profit - not people. This was something he didn't think he could make Fraser understand, nor, truthfully did he want too. A knock at the door saved him from trying to formulate a plausible reply. "Come in," he gratefully called.

Elaine entered with a folder in one hand, "We have an ID on the dead guy."

"Which one?" Ray asked.

"The one who's body is in the morgue," Elaine said, frowning at the detective. "I'm checking Missing Persons trying to match Fraser's description of the victim. So far, nothing."

"Keep at it, Elaine," Welsh ordered, taking the file from her. Opening it, he quickly scanned the data. "This is interesting."

"What is, sir?" Ray impatiently urged.

"Our killer's name was Paul Rulati. Apparently, this isn't the first time he's killed a man."

"But it was his last," Ray observed.

Frowning at the interruption, Welsh continued, "He was implicated in three other murders."

"If that's the case," Fraser's brow creased in puzzlement, "why wasn't he behind bars?"

"Apparently," Welsh said, referring to the report, "the witnesses changed their story or disappeared."

Ray smiled, "It looks like you did this city a favor, Benny. We're better off having a scumbag like that off our streets."

"Except, he wasn't on our streets," Welsh corrected, taping a finger beneath a line of print.

"What?"

"According to this, up until today, he was walking the streets of St. Louis."

Ray circled the desk to peer over his superior's shoulder, "What was he doing in Chicago?"

"That's the sixty-four thousand dollar question. Since he has ties with Monty Cameron, my guess is that it's gambling related."

"Does this Cameron work out of Chicago?" Fraser asked.

"Nope, he works out of St. Louis, too."

"Then, is it possible, our victim was also from St. Louis?"

Welsh stared at Fraser as though he'd grown two heads. He was embarrassed. He was the professional and yet he had missed the obvious connection. "Elaine," he shouted. The young woman had barely stepped into the office when he ordered, "Contact the St. Louis Police Department. Send them a fax of Fraser's description and drawing of the victim. Have them check their missing persons reports."

"Yes, sir." Though clearly puzzled by the request, Elaine quickly departed. 

"Is there anything else I can do to help, Leftenant?" Fraser offered.

Welsh grimaced, "I think you've done quite enough, thank you."

Opening his mouth to reply, Fraser's eyes were caught by Ray's frowning face. Closing his mouth, he nodded, "Understood."

"I guess we should call it a night, sir?" Ray suggested, crossing to Fraser's side.

"I want you back here bright and early in the morning, Vecchio," Welsh commanded, pointing his finger at his subordinate.

"Yes, sir," Ray quickly agreed, backing out the door. He tugged at his friend's arm urging him to follow.

Ignoring the prompt, Fraser said, "If you should need me, Leftenant, I'll be at the consulate all day tomorrow."

Welsh bit his lip stopping the words he wanted to say. Instead, he counted to ten before pleasantly returning, "I'll be sure to contact you, Constable if we need anything."

As he watched the two men walk away, all Welsh could do was shake his head. How could he be so angry with someone who was so innately polite? Was he jealous? Fraser had more ability and instincts than any officer he'd ever seen. It was almost indecent. How could one man have so much talent? Especially one with no ambition. Welsh knew that if he hadonly half of the Mountie's abilities, he would be a Captain by now.

****

"Stop pouting," Fraser ordered, looking back to ensure Diefenbaker was still following him. The wolf had been sulking ever since Fraser refused to take him to Wrigley Field - a junk food addict's paradise.

Opening the door to the consulate, Fraser waited patiently as Dief slowly entered. The human knew it was useless to try to hurry the animal. He would simply retaliate by moving slower. Fraser had already resigned himself to the fact that he would be late for work. There were times when their relationship became a bit trying. This was one of those times.

Fraser held the elevator door, shaking his head as Diefenbaker slowly dragged himself across the threshold. It would do him no good to try and reason with the wolf. Dief had his own timetable. Depending on how badly used he felt, he could stay mad for an hour or a week.

It took all Fraser's will power not to drum his fingers on the control panel as the lift creaked slowly to the top floor. He could only hope that Thatcher hadn't arrived yet. She had a tendency to overreact whenever he did something she deemed inappropriate. He often felt like he was walking on egg shells when he dealt with her. He wasn't quite sure why she seemed to dislike him. Ever since she assumed command, he'd done his best to garner her good opinion. So far, he'd failed miserably.

The doors opened. Standing in his path was Inspector Thatcher. "Oh dear," Fraser softly whispered, straightening his shoulders and coming to attention.

Tapping the face of her wristwatch, Thatcher pointed out, "You're late."

"I know, Ma'am. I'm sorry."

"Corporal Kelly called in sick," Thatcher interrupted, her eyes staring past Fraser as if she didn't see him. "You'll take his place on guard duty today." 

"Understood."

As he stepped back into the elevator, Fraser discreetly studied his superior's face. She didn't look angry. It was more like she was disappointed. When the doors closed cutting off his view, his gaze dropped to the wolf sitting at his feet. "I hope you're satisfied."

Diefenbaker growled.

"I thought you would be. You do realize that holding a grudge is beneath your dignity?"

A soft whine was the only reply.

Fraser spent the remainder of the ride mentally preparing himself. Standing for long periods of time, unable to move, took concentration and focus. He would have to tune out the distractions furnished by pedestrians and vehicles. The other factor that needed to be calculated into the equation was the weather. Yesterday the temperature had reached the lower sixty's. A breeze off the lake had made it feel even cooler. Things had changed, literally overnight, as they often did in Chicago. By noon, the thermometer was expected to soar to the mid-nineties. He could not allow himself to show any discomfort. He had no desire to see that look on Thatcher's face again.

With Diefenbaker sitting smugly at his side, Fraser took his position. Time lost all meaning for him. He could've been staring at the broken brick on the building across the street for ten minutes or an hour, when he became aware of a car parked directly in front of him. A growl from Diefenbaker made him go against training and drop his eyes. A gun was pointing at him from the front passenger window. 

Before he could break his concentration and order his muscles to move, he heard a soft plunk. He'd barely registered the sound of a bullet passing through a silencer when he felt a burning pain his chest. His legs turned to water, dumping him onto the hard pavement. His hat cushioned his head before flying off. Laying on his back, his legs twisted awkwardly beneath him, he looked up at the bright blue sky. A rough tongue licked his cheek as he fought for each agonizing breath. Why did dying have to be so difficult?

****

Ray smiled as he closed the folder. For once, one of his cases had a happy ending. An abusive scumbag was off the street. With help, a pretty young mother could put these years behind her and start to live again.

"Vecchio."

Surprised Lieutenant Welsh was confronting him at his own desk, Ray nervously rose. What had he done to warrant such an action? "Yes, sir?"

"I just received word that Constable Fraser was gunned down in front of the consulate."

Stunned, Ray stared speechless at his superior.

"They've taken him to Cook County Hospital."

Still unable to express his rage and anger, Ray headed for the door. A hand on his arm pulled him up.

"Let us know when you hear anything," Elaine begged. "You're not the only one who cares."

Still unable to speak, Ray nodded.

He never remembered the drive to the hospital. It was a blur of red and green lights. He couldn't even be certain that he'd correctly obeyed the traffic signals.

Passing through the double doors leading to the Emergency Room, he started to shake. How badly had his friend been hurt? The last time he'd felt like this it had been his own bullet in Fraser's back. The guilt had nearly driven him insane. This time, it wasn't his fault. It should be easier. Why wasn't it?

Oblivious to his surroundings, he stopped at the reception desk and rudely interrupted a conversation, "I'm looking for Benton Fraser."

Frowning at the intrusion, the gray-haired receptionist consulted her case book, "He's in surgery. The waiting room is on the third floor."

"Can you give me his condition?"

"I'm sorry, sir. That information isn't available."

Too impatient to wait for the elevator, Ray headed for the stairs. He welcomed the exertion. It gave him something to focus on besides his fear. When he reached the third floor, he found that his hand was shaking so hard he could barely grip the doorknob. Leaning his head against the cool metal, he closed his eyes. He'd had friends before, but not like Benny. Most of his childhood buddies had melted into the woodwork when he became a cop. They had felt nervous and uncomfortable around him. Feeling deserted, Ray had kept people at arms length. He wouldn't let himself be so vulnerable again. Then, Fraser came into his life making him see how lonely he had been. It wasn't a feeling he cared to repeat. Despite the differences in their backgrounds, he had never had to worry that Benny would desert him. Friendship to the Canadian wasn't a transient state. It was forever. Ray felt honored to be called friend by this man.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed away from the door. While he was wallowing in self-pity, Fraser could be dying. Sweat coated the palm, but his hand was steady as he threw the door open. He held it for the few seconds it took to get his bearings. The swinging doors to his right bore a plate identifying it as the entrance to surgery. Across the hall was a room whose walls were partially made of glass. Through the window, he saw Inspector Thatcher slowly pacing its length. Though reluctant to confront the 'Dragon Lady', he was desperate for information concerning Benny's condition.

Entering the room, he was surprised when she didn't seem to notice his presence. Clearing his throat, he asked, "Any news?"

"Oh," Thatcher's hand went to her throat as she instinctively backed away. Quickly regaining her composure, she shook her head, "All they've told me is the bullet is in his chest near the heart."

Ray frowned, "It sounds serious."

"Deadly serious," Thatcher confirmed, gently massaging her temples.

"How did it happen?" Ray was surprised by her apparent concern. He had never seen the woman so disoriented. The animosity he usually felt toward her started to disappear.

"According to witnesses," the Inspector related, "a car drove up and parked in front of Fraser. The passenger pulled the trigger."

"Did anyone get a license number?"

"Apparently, the shooter used a silencer. No one realized anything was wrong until Fraser collapsed at his post."

Ray felt his anger return, "Fraser was standing guard?"

"Corporal Kelly called in sick. I assigned Fraser to fill his position," Thatcher quietly confirmed.

"What did Benny do this time to piss you off?" Ray demanded, gritting his teeth.

Confused, Thatcher shook her head, "What do you mean?"

"You only put Fraser on guard duty when he's made you mad. What was it this time?"

Squaring her shoulders, Thatcher raised her chin, subtly reminding him of her authority. "I assigned Corporal Fraser to guard duty because he was late for work."

"You're kidding?"

"Anytime rules are broken, disciplinary action is required."

"Did you even bother to ask him why he was late?" Ray demanded, barely able to control himself. "Knowing Fraser, he was helping a little old lady across the street, or stopping a bank robbery."

"That's no excuse. Rules are meant to be followed, not broken."

Suddenly realizing something was missing, Ray glanced around the room, "Where's Diefenbaker?"

"He's still at the consulate. I'll see he's taken care of."

"Don't bother," Ray growled, "you'd probably be breaking some rule. I'll come by and pick him up as soon as I know how Fraser is."

Obviously fighting to keep the control expected of a person in her position, Thatcher gave a short, quick nod, "Suit yourself."

"You have nothing to worry about in that regard, Inspector."

"Fine," she snapped, turning away.

"Fine," Ray agreed, crossing to a chair on the other side of the room.

****

Diefenbaker frantically scratched the edge of the door. Somebody had to hear. Somebody had to let him out. He had seen the faces of the men who tried to kill his friend. Once they knew they hadn't succeeded, they'd try again. He was the only one who could stop them.

"Cut that out, Dief."

The door vibrated, alerting Dief that someone was on the other side.

"If you ruin Thatcher's door she'll have your head. And mine."

Dief realized this was his chance. It had to be Corporal Wilkins who had come in response to the noise. He was a nice boy who could be easily manipulated. Dief scratched harder.

"Dief, please!" The Mountie also increased the volume of his knocking in a useless attempt to make the wolf stop his destructive actions.

Correctly equating the human's reactions with panic, Dief added a few pitiful woo woo's, to his scratching. He was certain this would open the door. And he was right. It was only a few inches, but that was more than enough to get a paw through. With a strength Wilkins obviously had not expected, Dief made the opening large enough for him to escape. He shot through, bowling the Corporal over in the process.

He couldn't take the time to apologize. He had an important duty to perform. As he ran down the stairs, he could feel the vibration of Wilkins pounding along behind him. Good! That meant he hadn't thought to call ahead and have someone guarding the front door.

Congratulating himself on his brilliance, Dief reached the main floor. Instead of slowing down, he tried to speed up. Nails slipped on the highly polished marble, landing him on his chin. He unceremoniously slid halfway across the lobby. His pride injured more than his anatomy, he carefully climbed to his feet. At a more sedate pace, he crossed to the front door.

Luck was still with him as it suddenly swung open. When the visitor hastily tried to close it again, Dief knew Wilkins was gaining on him. But it was already too late. With a soft growl that made everyone retreat, he slipped out the door.

Without the slightest hesitation, he turned to his right. He hoped they'd taken his friend to Cook County Hospital; it was the only one he knew how to find.

****

Ray's body protested as he tried to shift to a more comfortable position. Though the chair was normally soft and pliable, right now it felt like concrete. It had not been designed to be occupied at an angle. Despite his aching muscles, he refused to sit where his gaze might fall on Thatcher. He was angry and he wanted to stay angry. She didn't deserve his forgiveness. She should hurt, just as he was hurting. It was a fitting punishment for her crime.

They hadn't spoken since their fight several hours before - which suited Ray. So far, he had been able to control his temper, but all it would take was one wrong word from her and he would lose his cool. He was tempted to tell her what he thought of her, though it wouldn't do either himself or Fraser any good. He didn't want Benny to pay for his indiscretion.

Instead, he stared at the swinging doors leading into surgery and willed them to open. He couldn't take much more. It had been a long time since he'd felt this close to anyone outside his family.

Thatcher sneezed. 

Ray bit his tongue fighting to keep from offering the polite response his mother had tried to instill in him from birth. His forgiveness could not be so easily obtained.

A strange, yet familiar, clicking sound drew Ray's attention to the open doorway. He was surprised, though he knew he shouldn't be, when Diefenbaker trotted into the room. The wolf stopped inside and sat down. Piercing eyes bore into Ray's until the human was forced to defend himself, "Don't be mad at me, I wasn't the one who left you at the consulate."

The blue eyes acknowledged the truth before shifting to rest on Thatcher.

"I thought you'd be happier waiting in my office," she defended herself. Suddenly remembering who she was addressing, Thatcher raised her eyes to the heavens, "I can't believe I'm justifying my actions to a wolf."

Thoroughly enjoying the woman's discomfiture, Ray didn't see the surgery doors open.

"Detective Vecchio."

The smile on Ray's lips disappeared as he rose. He was gratified to see that the surgeon who had called his name was the same one who had operated on Fraser the last time the mountie had been shot. "How's Benny?"

"He's listed in critical condition, but that's mostly due to the nature of the wound. He's doing very well. However, any trauma to the heart is unpredictable."

"He was shot in the heart?" Thatcher softly whispered, turning pale. 

"The bullet tore through the chest wall about here," the Doctor said, using his own body to demonstrate. "It went through the lung, aortic arch, trachea, esophagus, nicked a vertebra, then buried itself in the back muscles."

Listening to the damage that had followed in the bullet's wake, Ray found it difficult to breath, "What happens now?"

"Barring complications, Constable Fraser should make a full recovery."

"You're kidding?"

"Not at all. Thanks to the gangs, we see this type of wound quite often. Over a quarter of the victim's survive. Our biggest enemy now is infection. We're pumping him full of antibiotics to combat that threat."

"Can I see him?" Ray eagerly requested.

"Not at present. He needs rest. If he continues to improve," the Doctor promised, turning to leave, "you can see him tonight."

"I'll be here," Ray called after the surgeon. He felt drunk with relief. In fact, he almost felt good enough to forgive Thatcher. Finally looking at her for the first time since the doctor's entrance, he was surprised to see tears in her eyes. One spilled over and rolled down her cheek. Ray quickly looked away. She was only doing what he wanted to do himself. At least her reaction was more honest than his own. The least he could do was leave her with her pride. "I'll take Dief with me."

"All right," Thatcher's acknowledgment was barely audible.

"Come on Dief," Ray ordered, heading out the door. He had only a gone a few steps when he realized the wolf wasn't behind him. Back-pedaling, he stuck his head through the open door, "Come on, Dief. They won't let you stay with Benny, yet. You either come with me, or you go back to the consulate."

Diefenbaker whined softly before rising to his feet. His head was bowed as he slowly followed Ray down the corridor.

"It's all right, Dief," Ray soothed, "it won't be long before Fraser's well enough to make both our lives hell."

When this failed to console his companion, Ray conceded defeat. Though he was exhausted, he decided to return to the precinct to see if any progress had been made in Fraser's case. A motive for the shooting would be a good start. And, if he was lucky, there might be some donuts left. It was obvious he would need assistance in raising the spirits of the unhappy animal walking slowly beside him.

****

His progress through the squad room was slow. It seemed as though everyone wanted to know how Fraser was doing. Ray hadn't realized how popular the mountie was.

"Vecchio!"

Welsh's voice roared above the expressions of concern to gain Ray's attention. Hoping the Lieutenant had something positive to relay, he pushed his way past his co-workers. Entering his superior's office, he was surprised to find two strangers apparently waiting for him. The man was sitting in one of the chairs in front of Welsh's desk. The woman stood nearby.

"Close the door," Welsh ordered.

As soon as Dief's tail had cleared the opening, Ray complied, "What's going on, sir?"

"This is Lieutenant Adams," Welsh said, pointing to the short portly man with thinning hair, "and this is Detective Myers."

Ray's eyes rested on the young woman. Long blonde hair that reached to her waist was twisted into a neat braid. Intelligent blue eyes stared back at him with a touch of contempt.

"They're with the St. Louis Police Department," Welsh finished.

"Aren't you a bit far off your turf?" Ray asked, disconcerted by the woman's obvious animosity.

"I'd go to the moon," Adams said, "if it would put Monty Cameron behind bars. Every time I think I've got him, the witness or the evidence disappears."

Ray exchanged glances with Welsh, "Cameron operates out of St. Louis. What does he have to do with Chicago?"

"The man you have in your morgue," Adams laid a photograph on Welsh's desk, "is Cameron's hit man. If we could get evidence linking Cameron and Rulati with this man," Adam placed a second picture next to the first, "I may not have to go to the moon to get my wish."

"Who's he?" Ray inquired, pointing to the man with thinning blond hair. He had already realized the likeness closely resembled the drawing Fraser had made of the man he saw killed in Wrigley Field.

"His name is Philip Shaefer. He was a compulsive gambler who ended up running numbers for Cameron to pay his debts."

"If you got all this on these guys, why aren't they behind bars?"

Her face showing her contempt, Myers sneered, "Unfortunately, the courts in St. Louis require proof before they'll allow us to incarcerate a felon."

Uncertain whether she was unhappy with him or the judicial system, Ray asked, "What do you want from us?"

"First, we need to confirm that Shaefer is the man Rulati killed," Adams replied, frowning at his sub-ordinate.

Uncomfortable under the woman's scrutiny, Ray shook his head, "I'm afraid the only one who can answer that is in the hospital."

"We'll go to him then," Myers decided, picking up the photographs.

"It won't do any good."

"Why not?"

"He's in intensive care," Ray cheerfully informed her.

"What happened?" Adams demanded.

"Constable Fraser is a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police," Welsh explained, glaring at his own detective. "He was shot down in front of their consulate this morning."

"By these men?" Adams eagerly probed, pulling two more photographs from his briefcase and laying them over the others.

"So far," Welsh reluctantly admitted, "we haven't found any witnesses to the shooting."

Diefenbaker whined.

"There was one witness," Ray corrected, lifting the pictures so Dief could see them.

Two short angry barks confirmed the identification.

Ray handed the pictures back to Adams. "According to Dief, these are the guys who shot Fraser."

"You call that an identification?" Myers sneered.

"I'd trust Dief more," Ray softly observed, "than I would a human witness."

"He's a dog!"

"Actually, he's a wolf."

"If he's right," Adams interrupted them, "then the Constable is in danger. Cameron obviously considers him a threat."

Ray didn't need to hear any more. Opening the door, he said, "I'll be at the hospital if you need me, Lieutenant."

Handing Myers the photographs, Adam ordered, "Go with him, Angela."

"Yes, sir," Myers reluctantly agreed, a big sigh showing her displeasure with the assignment.

"Don't worry," Ray soothed, "Dief doesn't bite. Although, I 've been known to."

Snatching the photos from her superior, Myers annoyance was clearly apparent as she led the way from the office. Once outside, she stopped in confusion, "Which way?"

Ray pointed to the right. Anxious to protect his friend, he didn't wait and let her precede him as his mother had taught him. He hurried past her, heading for his car leaving her to follow.

"You might at least say heel," Myers complained, panting as she tried to keep up.

"Dief doesn't know the meaning of the word," Ray returned, even though the wolf was at his heel.

"The suggestion wasn't intended for the animal."

Opening the driver's side door, Ray pulled the front seat forward so Dief could jump in back. Before the young woman had reached the passenger side, he had the keys in the ignition. The engine roared to life.

Worried more about her anatomy than her dignity, Myers swung her legs inside and slammed the door. "Are you always in such a big hurry?"

"Only when I'm trying to save a friend's life."

"We can't help him if we don't stay alive ourselves," Myers observed, fear on her face as they pulled into traffic narrowly missing a bus.

"I got the impression you didn't much care if I lived or died."

"I don't."

"Then why the sudden concern?"

The hands gripping the dashboard were leached of blood. "Because I'm in this car, too."

Ray slowed, more because he'd scared himself than her. "What did I do to you to make you hate me? I've never seen you before in my life."

"It's not you," Myers primly returned, "it's the type."

"What _type_ would that be?"

"If you don't know, I'm not going to tell you."

Shocked by the reply, Ray took his eyes off the road to look at her. Maybe the braid was more than just a hairstyle? He hadn't heard such a lame excuse since he was ten years old. The more he was around Detective Angela Myers, the less he liked what he saw. Outwardly, she might be beautiful, but inside she was a black hole. He hoped Fraser's life wouldn't hinge on her competence.

Much to Ray's relief, the remainder of the ride was quiet - except for Diefenbaker's backseat driving. He would whine whenever Ray got too close to the car in front or ran through a yellow light. Yet, if Ray slowed down, he growled his disapproval.

The sun had long since slipped below the horizon by the time he parked his car in a spot reserved for a Doctor Fields. It was Wednesday. There was a least a fifty-fifty chance Fields was sitting in a bar at a golf course, somewhere in the suburbs, bragging about his score.

Climbing from the car, Ray let Dief out, before slamming the door. "Heel," he said, obediently following Myers suggestion. He didn't wait to see if she obeyed. He really didn't care. In the course of the day, he'd had two fights with two different women. Maybe he should change his cologne?

Dief raced ahead going through the entrance with some startled visitors. By the time Ray caught up with him, he was prancing impatiently in front of the elevator. Ray wished there was something he could say to reassure the worried animal. Whatever he said would be trite or a lie, and Dief would know.

A bell clanged, announcing the elevator's arrival. Ray held the door for an elderly woman with a walker, before stepping inside himself. Just as he was about to let the door close, Myers arrived. She was panting heavily, as though she had run a long distance. Ray frowned. She didn't look like she was out of shape.

"That animal," the elderly woman shouted, shaking her walker at Dief, "doesn't belong in a hospital." 

"What animal?" Ray feigned ignorance.

"That one!" The walker was shaken harder. "Don't pretend you can't see him."

"Of course I see him," Ray soothed, looking in the corner opposite the one Dief occupied.

The elevator stopped. Checking the lights, Ray saw it was the third floor. He held the doors, allowing Myers and Dief to precede him. He gratefully released them on the elderly woman's strident complaining.

"I'm going to report you, young man. Don't think I won't."

"She's right, you know," Myers said, her eyes resting on Dief with distaste. "He's going to get you in trouble. You'll be lucky if they don't kick you out."

"They may kick me out," Ray concede, "but not Dief."

As if to confirm his theory, a nurse walked quickly down the hall toward them. Out of the corner of his eye, Ray saw Myers' smug gaze focused on him. He gloated, as the nurse dropped to one knee to greet Diefenbaker. "Hello, Julie," Ray greeted the middle-aged mother.

"Hello, Ray," Julie absently greeted. "Dief is looking a little thin."

"That's only because you girls spoiled him so much last time, he practically waddled when he left here."

"I hear we're going to be enjoying the pleasure of his company again," Julie noted, regaining her feet.

"Do you know how Fraser's doing?" Ray eagerly inquired.

Scratching the top of Dief's head, Julie smiled, "They've upgraded his condition to stable."

"Thank you," Ray whispered. Though his words seemed to be directed at Julie, his eyes were looking heavenward. "Can I see him?"

"I don't think he's awake."

"I won't disturb him. I promise."

"Room 209," Julie revealed, patting Ray on the arm. "You didn't have to promise. I know you wouldn't do anything to hurt him."

Touched by the woman's trust, Ray headed for the stairs. He ran down to the second floor with Dief at his heels. The closer he got to his goal, the more his concern for his friend's safety increased. He should have put a guard on Fraser's room as soon as he was brought out of surgery or stayed himself. But, he had believed it to be an arbitrary shooting. A natural extension of the violence plaguing all big cities. He never imagined that St. Louis' dirty laundry would be sent to Chicago to be cleaned.

As he approached room 209, he slowed and took deep breaths to control his breathing. He didn't want to wake Fraser with his loud panting.

Just as he was about to enter, Myers caught up with him. It was obvious she didn't feel the same fear for Fraser's safety that haunted Ray. She wasn't even breathing hard. Ray let his gaze rest on her face. How could something so beautiful seem so ugly to him?

Still trying to be as quiet as possible, Ray pushed through the door. He immediately saw that all his efforts were in vain. Fraser was wide awake. Even though the handsome face was pale and drawn, it was the most beautiful sight Ray had ever seen. "Can't sleep?" he sympathetically guessed.

"These make it a little difficult," Fraser said, weakly indicating the tubes running from both hands to IV bottles hanging on either side of the bed. Oxygen flowing directly into his nostrils made it easier for him to breathe.

Unwilling to show his true feelings in front of a stranger, Ray pointed to the young woman, "Benny, this is Detective Myers of the St. Louis Police Department."

"Nice to meet you, Ma'am," Fraser politely returned.

Hoping to get rid of her as quickly as possible, Ray explained, "She has some pictures she'd like you to look at."

Though bruised flesh circled his pain filled eyes, Fraser readily agreed, "Certainly."

"Do you recognize this man?" Myers asked, handing Fraser the picture of the blond man.

"He's the man I saw stabbed at Wrigley Field," Fraser identified.

"How about these two?" Angela continued, pulling out the other photographs.

"They're the men who shot me," Fraser confirmed.

Myers sadly shook her head as she dropped the pictures and reached into her briefcase. This time, she pulled out a gun with a silencer. "I was hoping you wouldn't recognize them."

"I should've known Cameron had someone on the force in his pocket," Ray disgustedly observed, raising his hands.

"You've got it wrong," Myers said, smiling proudly. "It's my operation. Cameron works for me."

"Aren't you taking a chance telling us?"

"Not really, Ray," Fraser answered for the young woman. "She has no intention of letting either of us leave this room alive."

"Then why tell us at all?"

"Because it's difficult for one's ego to be the brains behind such an enterprise, yet unable to tell anyone. She's seeking admiration for her achievements."

"I have a hard time admiring a dirty cop."

Myers angrily raised her chin, "That's what I meant when I said I knew your type, Vecchio. You're a goody-two-shoes who can't be bought."

"I don't know about the goody part," Ray speculated, "but you are right about the buying part."

"You'd rather live from paycheck to paycheck," Myers correctly interpreted, "then break a few laws."

Ray's eyes narrowed, "You've killed people. I don't need a law to tell me that's wrong."

"Before you kill us," Fraser said, his face showing no more emotion than it would if he were asking the time of day. "Would you mind telling us why you had Philip Shaefer killed? Its not generally considered good business to take out your own employee."

The look on Ray's face seemed to imply that Fraser had gone off the deep end. "Who cares why she had him killed?"

"I do," Fraser insisted, a soft moan escaping his lips as he shifted position. "We're going to die because of what I saw. I think we deserve to know why."

Moving so that she could cover the door and the two men, Myers explained, "The Cardinals were almost a sure bet to win the wild card spot in the National League. The Montreal Expos were a long shot. I could make a killing, excuse the pun, if the Expos won."

"So you bought the Cardinal manager to ensure they would lose," Fraser reasoned.

Surprise and consternation flashed across Myers face, "How did you know it was the manager?"

"Tears were running down Shaefer's cheeks as he looked into the dugout. The Cardinals were taking batting practice. The only member of the team who might not be on the field at that time would be the manager."

"Phil was a baseball nut. After the strike last year, he was afraid a scandal would kill Major League Baseball. He was going to blow the whistle. I had him stopped before he could."

"Killing two law enforcement agents isn't going to help your operation," Ray said. "You'll find it a little difficult to explain why we're dead and you're not." 

"As far as anyone else will know, you were alive when I left. My men are making themselves visible to the nurses on this floor. It will appear as though they killed you to keep Fraser quiet."

"Is that enough, Leftenant?" Fraser's voice rose, bringing a frown to Myers face.

"That should be enough to convince any jury," Welsh agreed, entering the room with his weapon drawn.

Adams followed him in and immediately trained his gun on Myers, "Drop it, Angela. Right now, you have a chance to make a deal. You shoot those men it'll be the death sentence for sure."

With two guns trained on her, Myers had little choice but to comply. Her arm dropped to her side, "How did you know?"

"We've known for a long time that Cameron owned a cop," Adams revealed. "We just didn't know which one."

"You knew enough to set me up," Myers pointed out, an angry gaze resting on Fraser.

"It was what you'd call a long shot," Adams admitted. "If you hadn't pulled that gun, we would've been back to square one. Of course, we thought we were only after a bad cop. We didn't know you were the ringleader. Though, now that I think on it, I never thought Cameron had the brains for this kind of operation."

"Let's take her in," Welsh suggested, tilting his head toward Fraser. "I think the Constable could use some rest."

"I'll check to see that those two triggerman were picked up," Adams quickly agreed, snapping his handcuffs around Myers wrists. "Thank you for your help, Constable. I'll send someone over tomorrow to get your statement."

"Glad to be of service, Leftenant," Fraser replied, exhaustion making his words slur.

As soon as the two officers had left with their charge, Ray turned on his friend, "You knew it was a set-up, and you didn't let me in on it!"

"It was impossible to let you know without also revealing everything to Detective Myers."

Though he couldn't argue with the logic, Ray still wasn't ready to concede defeat, "You could've winked or something."

"If we ever find ourselves in a similar situation," Fraser promised, closing his eyes, "I'll do that."

'How did Welsh get this set up so fast?"

"They left right after you did," Fraser explained, fighting back a yawn. "He called me from the car and told me their suspicions. Julie was sent to slow you down while they got into position."

Guiltily realizing the incident had taken its toll on the injured man, Ray said, "I better get out of here and let you get some sleep."

"Thanks for trusting me, Ray," Fraser whispered, opening his eyes. "Not everyone would've believed that I saw a murder when there wasn't a body to back me up."

"Anyone who knows you would've," Ray solemnly disagreed. "You literally couldn't lie if your life depended on it."

"I'm not sure I'd go that far."

"I would."

"Thank you kindly."

The pale face almost appeared translucent. Worried, Ray suggested, "We'll discuss it tomorrow."

"That seems like a good idea," Fraser nodded, flinching when the movement stretched sore muscles.

"Are you coming with me, Dief?" Ray asked, heading for the door. "Or, are you staying here?"

Diefenbaker jumped onto the only chair. Curling up, he laid his head on his paws.

Ray shook his head, "That's what I thought."

****

Ray smiled as he walked down the corridor, greeting the nurses he knew and sizing up the ones he didn't. Benny might not enjoy his hospital stay, but there was no reason why Ray shouldn't. Something good might as well come out of all this.

His mood changed the moment he entered Fraser's room. Thatcher had somehow gotten around visiting hours and had arrived ahead of him. He was heartened, however, to see color in Fraser's cheeks.

"Detective Vecchio," Thatcher cordially greeted him.

"Inspector," Ray finally returned - after Fraser frowned at him.

Her face flushed, Thatcher said, "I better get back to work. If you need anything, Constable, be sure to let me know."

"I will, Inspector," Fraser politely replied. "Thank you for stopping by."

"I'm only doing my duty."

"Of course."

Thatcher glanced at Ray before admitting, "You do realize I wouldn't have put you on guard duty if I'd known your life was in danger."

"Understood."

"I better go," she uneasily repeated.

"That's probably a good idea," Ray grumpily agreed.

"Ray!" Fraser protested.

Her eyes focused on her shoes, Thatcher whispered, "Good day, Gentlemen."

Before Fraser could offer an apology for his friend's rude behavior, the young woman slipped out the door. "That was uncalled for Ray," he sternly accused.

"Uncalled for?" Ray incredulously repeated. "It's because of her you got shot."

"Of course it isn't . . ."

"Where were you when you took that bullet?" Ray interrupted.

"Standing guard in front of the consulate."

"Case closed."

Fraser frowned, "I appreciate your loyalty, Ray, but you heard Myers. I'd seen too much. I was a threat to her operation. They would've shot me whether I was standing outside the consulate or my own apartment building."

"Standing there like a statue sure made their job easier."

"Inspector Thatcher didn't know that at the time. All she knew was that I was late for work. It was her duty to reprimand me."

"She could've at least found out why you were late," Ray insisted. "What were you doing? Helping a little old lady across Michigan Avenue? Stopping a bank robbery?" 

"My reason isn't relevant."

"Maybe not to you, but it should've been to her."

"It wouldn't have changed the outcome."

"How can you know that?" His curiosity piqued, Ray pressed, "Come on, you can tell me. Why were you late?"

"Why don't you ask Dief?"

Curled up in the only chair, Dief whined softly, before covering his muzzle with his paws.

"It doesn't look like he's going to talk," Ray interpreted.

Forgiving eyes resting on the unhappy wolf, Fraser explained, "I was late, because Dief was dawdling."

"Dief?"

"He was mad because I didn't take him to Wrigley Field with us."

Ray felt all his anger at Thatcher's actions disappear. He wished he could transfer the feelings to Dief, but the wolf already looked so forlorn he didn't have the heart. He was honest enough with himself to admit he was looking for a scapegoat. Welsh had told them every witness against Cameron had turned up missing or dead. He should've placed Fraser in protective custody. He'd blown it. He was a professional. It was his job to recognize the danger Fraser was in. His failure had almost cost him his best friend. "Benny, do me a favor. Next time I take you to a ball game watch the field instead of the crowd."

"Understood, Ray."


End file.
